


timing

by simplyclockwork



Category: Sherlock - Fandom, Sherlock BBC
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-22
Updated: 2011-11-22
Packaged: 2017-10-26 10:40:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/282101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplyclockwork/pseuds/simplyclockwork
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Sherlock writes a blog post, John is a nosy sod, and sex ensues. Kind of PWP?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It's Thursday, and my flatmate won't stop being attractive (personal blog entry by Sherlock Holmes)

It’s Thursday. Lunch time. 12:05. John sitting across from me in his armchair. Watch him. Doesn’t notice; usually doesn’t. Asking me what I want to eat. Wearing that atrocious cat jumper.

Want to rip it off him. Want him for lunch, that’s what I want. Don’t want to eat him. Not literally. Perhaps metaphorically. Innuendo, needs a verb form.

John, stretching; rolling his shoulders, cracking his neck, pushing his arms up over his head. Sliver of skin between horrible cat jumper and worn blue jeans. Stare.

Want to touch him. Touch the gap between wool and denim, touch everywhere; all over. Want to do other things. Inappropriate things.

Want to taste him. Start there, start with that. Want to run my tongue over his lips; trace their shape with the tips of my fingers (nerve endings on fire; ablaze, burning, burning).

Distracting. Dangerously distracting; stealing away my attention, grinding down my focus; pushing it elsewhere. Can’t stop looking. Can’t stop staring at his mouth; his shoulders, arms, nimble fingers. Scrape my eyes across his chest, over his stomach, lower. Along his thighs, trace knee caps and ankle bones; retrace my steps and drift fingers up the inseam of his scuffed denims; delve into heat and curling hair, untouched by sun; untouched by me.

Distraction. Dangerous.

I want it. Want him. In my mouth, on my lips; covering me, engulfing me, turning me to ash.

Want want want want. Want him, John Watson, want John Watson.

Want my name in his throat; pushing past his lips, choking into the air. Want him pressed and tight against me, moving with me, over me, pressing into, shattering, devouring, consumed with fire. Want him shaking, writhing, crying out, hands drawing lines of ice and fire over my skin. Want to turn his vision white white blank nothing feel him release, soak me, splatter me, beautiful; spent, finished; eroded under my fingers, mouth, teeth, tongue.

Want to mark him. Make him mine. Drifting kisses over his jaw; typewriter teeth marks dark on his neck. Want to claim him; stake my territory. Want to leave him aching; sore and needy, whispering my name for the press of me.

Want his eyes dark when he looks at me; growling my name, screaming, begging, addicted and irreversible.

Make him mine make him mine

Want want want

Mine mine mine

John’s looking at me now; has put down his paper. Not entirely sure I want that. The look—not of devil-may-care desire, or come-hither lust. Concern. I’ve worried him. Staring, not such a good idea. Keep your eyes on his face, Sherlock. Face, safe zone, face face face.

He licked his lips. Oh god.

Safe zone safe zone safe zone.

Now his bottom lip looks wet and perfect. Want to lick it myself, see how it tastes, bring that taste into my mouth. Want to—

No. No, safe zone, Sherlock. John looks concerned again. I’ll look at my hands. Safety. Nimble, clever hands, and my slender fingers. Play the violin, maybe.

Play John like a violin. Stroke and tweak and run my fingers over his— On second thought, perhaps the bathroom needs cleaning. Or the dishes. Or my mouth.

Distraction. Distraction, distracting, distract.

John John John John John—John is moving around to look over my shoulder.

Will have to buy new laptop after I smash this one.

Such inconvenience.


	2. In which my flatmate is a nosy sod

"Sherlock. What are you doing?"

John's voice; low and... husky? No, normal. Perhaps a bit sleepy. Overactive brain is overreacting again. Such distraction.

"Nothing. Writing." Shrug shoulders around; block his view of the laptop, try to shut it. His hand, reaching under my arm; grabbing the screen, holding it open. Struggle. Nothing.

"Your blog?" He tilts his wrist, trying to push the screen fully open and read. Knock his hand away, too much force. Sorry John, sorry, didn't mean it.

"Personal. Now--" Turn slightly; press palm to his chest (feel his heart, feel heat, skin, jumper shifting over smooth expanses I want to touch, free from fabric; focus Sherlock, focus), shove slightly, make him step back involuntarily. "--stop being such a busy body."

"Dammit, Sherlock--" He grabs my arm, free hand holding onto the back of the couch for balance. Too much at once. Sensory input overwhelming. Fingers digging into flesh, gentle but firm; knuckles brush back of my neck. Tantalizing butterfly touch; want more. Much much more.

Turn; laptop slips from lap, hits floor with a thump. Good; hopefully damaged. Hopefully smashed beyond repair. Filtering that out, now; reach up, twisting around at a painfully awkward angle. Rest palm on the back of John's neck; smooth over vertebrae, and grip just under the base of his skull. Drag his head down, close eyes; press lips to his, fingers tracing over his jaw now. Spine starting to complain at the angle; ignore it. Focus on John. On his lips, on his taste. Flick out tongue, trace over bottom lip, and press until they open; slip into mouth, delving into heat and wet and delicious, delicious sensations. Goosebumps. John is reciprocating; gripping my cheeks, thumbs sliding over cheek bones, and fingers tangling in my hair. Seen him staring at my hair; let him touch it--feels good. Rumbling in my chest, almost like a purr. Feel weird, feel good...

Feel great.

Twist around, pulling him with me. Pulling him off balance and he falls onto the couch, half draped over my stomach. Pull him higher and tangle my legs with his, angling my head back as he takes over, lips trailing down and over my neck; teeth on my skin, hands under my shirt, fumbling at the buttons. Something pressing against the inside of my thigh. Want it. Want that. Delicious.

John John John.

Shirt undone now; being pushed off my shoulders. Shift around, hold out my arms for it to be torn away completely. John's jumper on the floor--thank god; those bead-eye cats were unsettling and throwing off; a distraction to this sudden and perfect lust.

John's hands on my chest; mouth moving low on my stomach. Stop thinking; oh god, perfection. Warm mouth, tracing over hip bones, his hands pushing down dress pants; fingers stroking gently on the inside of my thigh.

Feel naked; feels weird. Never been at this point before. But it's John, so it's fine. It's all fine.

Stoke my hands down his chest; tweak over a nipple, and savour his groan against my hip. He's shifting upwards now; planting hands on either side of my head and leaning low. His lips against mine, then beneath my ear.

"Sherlock--are you sure you--"

Lift my head; tilt my chin; capture his lips with my own. Kiss him slow and deep, tongue tracing over his lips until he parts them; sighs into my mouth, lips moving eagerly with mine. Slow, lazy kiss; absolutely perfect. Love it. Love this. Love him? Not sure. Maybe.

Probably.

Focus on the taste; emotions are confusing. Deal with them later.

Slide my hand past his undone belt buckle; cup him (hard hard and throbbing and oh god yes) in my palm. Wrap fingers around the shaft, and tug; gentle but firm, once, twice, three times, and he's pressing his face hard against my shoulder and neck, panting and emitting groans that burn into my skin.

"Sherlock, oh god..." John's voice. Husky, and heavy, and music to my ears. Stroke him harder, rougher; his shivers and noises indicate he likes it. Keep doing it; free hand pushes into his hair, tangling and ruffling, before his lips are back on mine. Pressure, heat, saliva; his tongue invading and pressing against mine, lips hungry and soft, all at once.

Rub my thumb over the rim of his erection; press and smooth over the slit, pre-cum coating my fingers.He moans, sound falling into my mouth, and he's trembling now. Hard, harder; swelling in my hand. John lets out a cry; slips his arms around my waist and pulls me hard against him as he comes. Eyes rolling into the back of his head, he muffles his noises against my skin, his body going slack on top of mine, and shaking slightly.

"Sherlock," he gasps, breath tickling over the skin of my collar bone. "Sherlock..." He's sliding down my chest; tracing lips over my stomach, and lower. His fingers are light on my erection, and his breath burns hot against the engorged skin.

"John." Say his name; taste it in my mouth. His lips on the head, light and teasing. Then heat, wet warmth; taking me in his mouth. Groaning; hips buck, uncontrollable. Sucking sensation; John's cheeks hollow, and his tongue swirling over and under and around. Trembling, now; dig nails into the couch under my back; hips rocking, John's fingers light on the inside of my thighs.

He sucks harder; swallows, and my eyes are sliding shut, face, skin, body burning, on fire, burn baby burn. Won't stop--won't stop. Dig my fingers against John's shoulders, pulling him down, hips wiggling and squirming. Can't help it; don't mean to be so rude; so pushy. Body taking over; groaning, crying out, vision going white at the edges.

"John... John--John!" Panting his name; repeating self. Hate repeating self. Can't stop. Don't care, not really. Shaking harder; trembling and making nonsense noises. Grip his shoulders; he's sucking deep and hard, murmuring soft encouragement around me. Hand stroke my stomach, and I release; throw my head back and cry out, his name a chant on my lips.

"John, oh god--John, John."

He's swallowing, wiping his mouth with his palm, and slipping back up my body to cradle my shuddering, spent form against his chest. He presses lips to my temple; light and gentle.

Lean my head against his chest, and tilt my cheek against a collar bone, rigid and perfect. Feel his breath on my forehead; his fingers in my hair.

His heart, beating under my lips.


End file.
